Margaret Atwood - Hag-Seed

It’s Miranda. She’s prompting him.

Friday, March 15, 2013.

On the evening before the final day of class, Felix purchases twenty bags of Miss Vickie’s Sea Salt Potato Chips. Using a razor blade, he makes a small slit in the package of each bag, at the back, right underneath the crimped closing. Through each slit he inserts fifteen cigarettes, one at a time. Marlboros is the brand of choice: they seem to be popular. He can’t perform this operation too far ahead of time or the cigarettes will taste like potato chips, and vice versa.

Then he reseals the slit, using a hand-held heat crimper. He’s been doctoring bags of potato chips for the cast party of each of the plays he’s produced at Fletcher.

He packs the chips into two Mark’s Work Wearhouse carry bags and hopes for the best.

The next day, Anne-Marie meets him in the parking lot. She’s attending the last session by special request. It’s a cast party in a way, and as Leggs has pointed out, she’s part of the cast, so why should she be left out?

“Thanks for doing this,” Felix says to her.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” says Anne-Marie. “Freddie wanted to come too, but I said not this time. It’s for the guys.” From this Felix concludes that Freddie is still on the hook. Or that they are on each other’s hooks. He smiles.

“Freddie’s not jealous of WonderBoy?” he asks slyly. “Those scenes were pretty intense.”

“You mean hot? Yeah, they were. But Freddie didn’t see them, he was playing chess with me,” says Anne-Marie. “Anyway, WonderBoy has backed off now. He’s fine with it.”

“Fine with what?” says Felix.

“Fine with it being just a play,” says Anne-Marie.

The bags of chips sail through Security: who’d suspect them of containing contraband? Dylan and Madison, most likely, but if so they turn a blind eye. Maybe they think the Players deserve some reward for all the effort they’ve put in.

“That was a great video, Mr. Duke! That Tempest thing,” Dylan says as he’s handing Felix his security pager. “I wasn’t expecting to like it, no battle scenes and all, but I really got into it.”

“Yeah, everyone got into it,” says Madison. “It was so weird!”

“You’re right, Mr. Duke, there was no fairies in it,” says Dylan. “That blue alien thing or whatever, and that Hag-Seeds rap number — they were wicked! You were awesome, Miss Greenland, ma’am. That Miranda was a stone cold fox!”

“Thanks,” says Anne-Marie a little drily.

“What’s in your bag?” says Dylan.

“Nothing sharp. Some chocolate cookies I baked for the guys, and just some dolls. You’ve seen them before.”

“Nothing weird in the cookies?” says Dylan, grinning.

“Here, you can test them,” says Anne-Marie. She doles out a cookie each.

“What’re the dolls doing here?” asks Madison.

“It’s a cast party,” says Anne-Marie. “They were in the cast. In the video. You saw them.”

“Oh yeah. Whatever,” says Madison. He throws Dylan a look: ditzy artist. “Just make sure they come out with you. You wouldn’t want them getting molested.”

“They can take care of themselves,” says Anne-Marie, straight-faced. What’s she up to? Felix wonders. With the dolls?

“What play are you gonna do next year, Mr. Duke?” says Dylan to Felix.

“Haven’t decided,” says Felix.

“Well, merde, whatever it is,” says Madison.

“A brilliant performance,” says Felix to the assembled cast. “Flawless! It couldn’t have gone better! A perfect example of the strengths of interactive theatre, an excellent demonstration of the practical uses of theatre arts, and”—he allows himself a heartfelt grin—“and, best of all, thanks to everyone here, the Literacy Through Literature program has been guaranteed for the next five years. The Fletcher Correctional Players are safe.” Spontaneous applause, fist bumps.

“Whoreson fantastic!” says Leggs.

“Give yourselves five stars,” says Felix. “Now a future generation of budding actors will be able to enjoy the privileges and acquire the skill sets of theatre in a hands-on way, as you have done. Let me add that this was the finest production of The Tempest I have ever mounted.” Not for them to know that it’s the only one. “It can’t be bettered, so I will never attempt this particular play again. I have already congratulated the principal members of the cast separately, but I must say that, collectively, this was the most accomplished crew of Goblins anyone could wish for. Let’s hear it for all of us!”

Modified cheers, more fist bumps.

“And a special round of applause for our plucky Miranda, Ms. Anne-Marie Greenland, who took on the role of Miranda despite conditions that would have compelled most actresses to refuse. She’s a brave lass indeed!” This time, louder cheers, applause, and a chorus of “Yeahs!” and “Awesomes!”

Leggs raises his hand, receives a nod from Felix. “Want to say from all of the guys, thanks, Mr. Duke. You are the greatest. It was…” Under his freckles he’s actually blushing.

“Fuckin’ awesome!” says 8Handz. More applause.

Felix gives a little bow. “It was a pleasure,” he says. “And now, your final assignment, for fifteen percent of the total marks. We’ll hear your presentations on the post-play lives of your characters. Then we’ll round things off with the cast party, including refreshments, such as potato chips. Everything’s in order.” He says this to reassure them that the cigarettes have indeed been safely smuggled in. “First up, Team Ariel.” He gestures to 8Handz to take the front of the room, then sits down at the empty desk beside Anne-Marie.

8Handz is ill at ease. He shifts from one foot to the other, clears his throat. He’s looking younger than ever.

“This is the report of Team Ariel,” he says, “which is me, WonderBoy, Shiv, PPod, and HotWire. We did it together. We all put in some ideas. You guys rock,” he says to his teammates.

“We were supposed to figure out what happens to your team’s main guy after the end of the play. So, our team’s guy is Ariel. I know we all said at the beginning that he’s an alien from outer space, but we changed our minds. Like Mr. Duke said, this play is about changing your mind, and it’s Ariel who changes Prospero’s mind, from revenge to forgiveness, because despite the crap they did, he feels sorry for the bad guys and what they’re being put through, once they’ve suffered enough, so we take it that’s okay — to change our own minds.”

He looks around the room. Nods, a couple of thumbs-up.

“Great. So, we decided he’s not an alien from space. If he was that kind of an alien he’d need to be picked up in a space vehicle, or else he could get beamed up, like in Star Trek . So we came up with a different idea.

“We figure he’s, like, a holographic projection. That’s how come he can move so fast, go invisible, and divide himself up like that. It all fits, yeah?” He smiles. “You need to know what a holographic projection is? Should I, like, go into it?” he asks Felix.